Whiskey in the Hands
by Ficalicious
Summary: When whiskey became his only friend. A lone barman with a glass full of amber. Sam's POV. Backstory.


**Whiskey in the Hands**

**Just a short piece from Sam's POV. I had a really lousy day yesterday and wanted to get out some of my own emotions. And I thought they tied nicely in with what I think Sam sometimes feels so I used him as my vessel. Apologies for the melancholy subject matter. But it's a nice back story piece. Enjoy. PS: I don't own Sam. I really do wish I did. I would treat him so much better than they do!**

The last drunk had been hustled out of Merlotte's hours ago.

Arlene had long since left to go home to her kids. Terry had followed like a love sick puppy dog. It was sweet really. Arlene may have had some short comings, but it sure was nice to see Terry happy. It had been a long time since he had had a real sense of belonging and purpose. It was good for him.

Sookie was off to some vampire thing that she hadn't wanted to talk about. Everything was so secretive with her nowadays. She was always off on some mission or other for Eric, or Bill, or Alcide. Always getting into trouble,

Even Lafayette had taken off licketty split. The flamboyant grill chef had claimed a hot date and left the second his shift had ended.

It was nights like this that Sam Merlotte realised how lonely he was.

He cast a glance around the bar. All of his hard work. Years of blood, sweat and tears. And he was proud of his achievements. He'd done well considering his rough start to life. Not that he was complaining. If things hadn't gone the way they did he might be working some suit and tie job in an office some place bored out of his mind. This was way better than anything he could have hoped for.

He'd been drifting his whole life; never settling anywhere long enough to get to know people. He'd only stayed as long as it took to find some new clothes, get some food or some money. Living that way you learn not to trust people pretty quick. He'd seen the nasty side of humanity. He'd been kicked when he was down; as a dog and as a human. He'd learnt that the only one worth trusting was yourself; anyone else would just let you down, or leave you high and dry.

But then Sam had come to Bon Temps. It had been an accident really. He'd been driving south from Shreveport in a stolen car. When an overzealous county sheriff had pulled him over for a broken tail light Sam had gotten nervous. Once the sheriff sent him on his way, with a promise to fix the light, Sam had decided the best course of action was to ditch the car as quick as possible.

He'd left the car parked off the side of the road and hitched from there. A real red neck of a man took him as far as Renard Parish and left him with directions for a place that was always hiring new staff.

The Watering Hole had been a ramshackle building in an overgrown clearing. It was dark, dingy, and uninviting. But it had potential. Sam still had money stashed from what he'd taken from Mary-Anne and he used this to help him with room and board.

He put in 60 hours that first week. He worked hard, got on the bosses good side, learnt a trade. The old man who owned the bar was keen to have a young fellow like Sam to learn the ropes on the bar. And Sam was keen to learn. He memorised drinks, scrubbed floors, served customers, got rid of a possum that had crawled behind the stove and died, and generally did all the jobs that no one else wanted. He got on the good side of the owner.

When he got up the courage he mentioned that he was interested in buying the place. The owner jumped on the chance. Turned out he had an ailing sister in Texas and he'd been wanting to move back for a while. He gave Sam a great deal and that was how Merlotte's was born.

Sam considered himself lucky. Things had gone really well for the bar. He'd renovated it himself, only calling in for outside help to clean up the parking lot and clearing a bit. He'd put out an add for waitresses and a cook and was pretty much staffed by the next day.

Lafayette had come to him and, despite his over the top apparel and manner, Sam had hired him because he'd had an honest handshake. And because he could _cook. _Terry had been a stray that wondered in, looking for odd jobs. Arlene had arrived, all red hair and sass and talked Sam into giving her a job. He'd been happy to. With two kids, a string of ex-boyfriends and all kinds of personal problems, Sam felt a connection with Arlene.

The day Sookie walked in Sam knew he was goner. He'd fallen for her the second she set foot in the bar. He'd decided to hire her, even before she'd asked for the job. Arlene had told him, afterwards, some of the rumours about Sookie. But Sam didn't care. He knew what he wanted.

And from there the bar grew. They got their regulars. They got the odd fight. Plenty of drunks. Plenty of nice people too. It was a real nice place. And through it Sam made friends. He got to know the towns folk. He got to know his staff. He made connections and relationships.

He lived in the double wide out back of the bar and made a point of going into town regularly. He talked to people. For the first time in his life he more or less fit in. And he was happy.

But he was lonely. For all his attempts to show Sookie his feelings she had been too wrapped up in Bill, and then Eric, and then Alcide. She had so much going on for her that she didn't realise that Sam was always there, in the background, patiently waiting for his chance.

Not to say that Sam hadn't attempted to move on. He'd had a brief thing with Tara, that hadn't ended well. And there'd been Daphne. That hadn't ended well either. But he'd _tried._

It wasn't even just sex that he was after. He wanted company. Someone to talk to. To share his day with. To curl up in bed with at night. Someone who understood his Shifting. Who appreciated him. Who loved him. He just wanted to share his life with someone.

As he sat there, in the almost dark of the bar, watching the light of the moon flickering through the windows, he cradled his glass of whiskey and brooded. Surrounded by the world he had created for himself he loathed the very things he'd worked so hard for. He loathed the nice guy he'd become. It seemed to have done nothing for him, being the nice guy always doing right by people.

At that moment he felt that he could give it all away, just to be _that _guy for a week. A day. Hell an hour would do. He just wanted to see what it felt like to matter to someone. To be loved. Sometimes he craved to be touched. Just to have someone reach out and grab his hand. Or to hug him. Or kiss him. To look at him like he was really there, and not just some invisible thing who served beers.

He was a toucher by nature. He always reached out to comfort someone, or pat them on the back. But to have someone else initiate contact - that was what he craved.

He sipped his whiskey, feeling the cool liquid burn all the way down his throat. It pooled in his stomach, a wash of malcontent. Another sip. He could feel his senses dull ever so slightly. He didn't often drink. Not to excess anyway. He saw the results of it ever night in the bar, and he would never be one of _those _people. But just tonight, when he was feeling so low and lonely. Just tonight he would allow himself to slip into the oblivion that he held cradled in his hands.


End file.
